


of fate and rain

by spnhell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (non-explicit), Dean Misses Castiel, Introspective Dean, M/M, referenced sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 21:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13579050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnhell/pseuds/spnhell
Summary: It’s moments like this, as he watches each drop of rain and feels them like an imprint on his soul, that he realises with true clarity how much Cas means to him. That he knows that for every drop, there’s a moment, a memory, a touch, a caress.





	of fate and rain

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [MistressPandora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaPod/pseuds/MistressPandora/works) for being my beta for this :)

_Dean, harder._  

It’s funny, Dean thinks, the way the smallest thing can strike a match in your brain and light up a memory.

 _There, right there, Dean._  

Rain patters against the Impala’s windows, water running down in rivulets as Dean gazes out, unfocused, mind wandering. The greys and greens shimmer and blur, paths of water distorting the outside world.

 _Beads of sweat trail down olive skin, paths ever changing as muscles ripple and shift. Hands fist in sheets as lips explore, mapping out the inches of skin, burning them into memory._  

Dean reaches out, runs a finger along the window. He pictures the long lean limbs of his angel as he traces the path of rain, traces it like he’d traced the sweat sliding down the planes of Cas’ body. Dean smiles, a small tug of his lips. So much for never sweating under any circumstances.

_That feels so good, so good, Dean, don’t stop._

There’s nothing like the way Cas says his name.

He wonders how they got here, wonders when his world stopped taking notice of the passage of time and moved to revolve solely around Cas. He can’t pinpoint the moment he felt his life shift, his fate changing its course and barrelling onwards with nothing to guide it but hope and love and a hint of fear. But on he went, white-knuckling it the entire way.

_Oh, don’t stop. Don’t stop, Dean._

As if he could ever stop. As if he could ever deny the pull that tugged him ceaselessly onwards, following in the wake of Cas’ current.

The rain falls harder now, rivulets becoming sheets that wash away the memory as Dean sighs and lets his hand fall. _Two more days._

He catches sight of Cas’ book on the bench seat next to him, mind constructing the image of him tucked into his favourite armchair with his face buried in it, his warmth filling the bunker and making it feel more like home than it ever has. The space isn’t the same without Cas in it now, without him grumbling about the warding, or the shoddy coffee machine Dean had bought on sale that percolates _too slow, Dean_. Dean had carried the book to the Impala with him, needing to feel something of Cas’ in his arms.

The book is an ancient copy of Theocritus’ _Idylls_ . Dean had found it tucked away in the back of a dusty bookstore, one that Cas insisted they visit. Cas had made it his mission since moving into the bunker to organise the library, and apparently they were missing _essential texts, Dean_. Dean had stumbled across it, finger tracing the spine with a ghost of a smile on his face. He’d bought it in secret, presenting it to Cas later that night, and the warmth of the smile that lit up his angel’s face was worth his weight in gold.

Dean had scoffed at the notion of actually reading it himself, of course, but as Cas had predicted, Dean had begun reading it to pass the time. He was desperate for anything connected to the absent angel. The depth of his need was reflected in every crease on the page, in every dent that indicated where Cas had rested his fingers, each one then covered by Dean’s own.

 _“It’s set in Ancient Greece. I know you like that sort of thing,” Cas had said,_ _eyes glinting with a spark that belonged in the night sky._

And it was true. Try as he might to hide it, Dean _did_ like it. Especially the mythology side of it all, the golden weaves of interest sowed in his mind by the stories his mother would tell him when he was a boy.

Dean’s smile turns fond, remembering his favourites. He remembers the tales of the Moirai, and wonders if the Fates had indeed played a hand in how the plot of his life had twisted and curved off track. He wishes he knew at what point Clotho had plucked the thread of Cas’ life and started spinning it together with his own. Wonders when Lachesis had decided that this was to be his destiny, to fall in love with onyx wings and blue eyes. Prays that Atropos had not yet set her sights on their burgeoning relationship, had decided with her sister that the measure of their life together would not go wanting.  

All Dean does know is that his own life doesn’t really seem to make sense anymore. It’s been seized from his grasp and put in the hands of another. And while that should terrify him, in a way it’s comforting, to know that his life is being handled with such care and tenderness and that in exchange he’s been entrusted with a life to care for of his own.

But he’d never really thought about it before, the true meaning of distance, the true weight of the planes of existence between them. He used to worry that they were like the stars, seemingly close by each other and yet in reality over a lifetime away. That they’d burn bright and fleeting and directionless, separation slowly breaking them apart. At night he’d lay awake and count the cracks in the ceiling, count the cracks and fill each one with his insecurities and doubt.

It’s moments like this though, as he watches each drop of rain and feels them like an imprint on his soul, that he realises with true clarity how much Cas means to him. That he knows that for every drop, there’s a moment, a memory, a touch, a caress.

Sometimes his heart feels so full of Cas that he doesn’t know how there’s even room left for the blood to circulate. He’ll lie awake at night and listen to his heartbeat, contemplating that at any moment he’ll hear it falter when that feeling of _completewholehome_ breaches the gaps and overflows, consuming him from the inside out.

It’s intensity and lust and _need_ and it’s so ever-present that sometimes Dean thinks he’ll just buckle under it all. He’d never understood before how something could be this _much,_ how someone could tear apart everything he thought he knew and wash it away on a coasting wave of desire. Cas had erased his book of truth and was rewriting the pages with every breath he took.

A beep from his phone drags him from his musings, and with a deep sigh and a shake of his head he pushes away from the window and the ache in his chest. An ache that immediately returns when he sees the message lighting up his screen.

_New Message: Cas_

**I didn’t think it was possible to meet an angel more irritating than Gabriel.**

_Beep._

**Angels aren’t even supposed to sleep, let alone** **_snore._ **

_Beep._

**There are cows outside. I’m surprised they haven’t stampeded yet.**

And just like that, Dean’s lost again.

Lost in how much he loves this stupid, impossible, ridiculous angel. Lost in how much he wishes he could be by Cas’ side, in how much he misses waking up next to him. How much he misses Cas’ warmth pressing against his side, how even his hair manages to look grouchy before coffee.

_Beep._

**I miss you.**

Dean’s heart swells.

Maybe it was the Fates, maybe it was Chuck himself, but Dean can’t help but feel that he doesn’t care what it was that brought them together. He doesn’t care anymore that the life that he was once so sure of has been flipped upside down and then turned over again. He feels the warmth of contentment spreading inside of him as he sits in the Impala and cradles his phone, fingers tapping away as he loses himself in the uncertainty and the anticipation and just everything _Cas_.

And he knows this is it for him. That nothing else needs to make sense so long as he has this.

He doesn’t even notice the rain fading, clouds parting and letting the sun’s light shine through. Why would he, when the only light he really cares about is half a world away.

 


End file.
